When the Olivette from Key West reached Tampa Bay every Cuban in the Tampa cigar factories was at the dock. There were thousands of them and all of the Junta, in high hats, to read David an address of welcome.
And, when they saw him at the top of the gang-plank with his head in a bandage and his arm in a sling, like a mob of maniacs they howled and surged toward him. But before they could reach their hero the courteous Junta forced them back, and cleared a pathway for a young girl. She was travel-worn and pale, her shirt-waist was disgracefully wrinkled, her best hat was a wreck. No one on Broadway would have recognized her as Burdett and Sons’ most immaculate and beautiful stenographer.
She dug the shapeless hat into David’s shoulder.
She dug the shapeless hat into David’s shoulder, and clung to him. “David!” she sobbed, “promise me you’ll never, never do it again!”
THE BAR SINISTER
Preface
When this story first appeared, the writer received letters of two kinds, one asking a question and the other making a statement. The question was, whether there was any foundation of truth in the story; the statement challenged him to say that there was. The letters seemed to show that a large proportion of readers prefer their dose of fiction with a sweetening of fact. This is written to furnish that condiment, and to answer the question and the statement.
In the dog world, the original of the bull-terrier in the story is known as Edgewood Cold Steel and to his intimates as “Kid.” His father was Lord Minto, a thoroughbred bull-terrier, well known in Canada, but the story of Kid’s life is that his mother was a black-and-tan named Vic. She was a lady of doubtful pedigree. Among her offspring by Lord Minto, so I have been often informed by many Canadian dog-fanciers, breeders, and exhibitors, was the only white puppy, Kid, in a litter of black-and-tans. He made his first appearance in the show world in 1900 in Toronto, where, under the judging of Mr. Charles H. Mason, he was easily first. During that year, when he came to our kennels, and in the two years following, he carried off many blue ribbons and cups at nearly every first-class show in the country. The other dog, “Jimmy Jocks,” who in the book was his friend and mentor, was in real life his friend and companion, Woodcote Jumbo, or “Jaggers,” an aristocratic son of a long line of English champions. He has gone to that place where some day all good dogs must go.